


Play Me Like The Strings Beneath Your Fingers

by TheHighlyFunctioningGay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Kid Fic, M/M, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1962861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHighlyFunctioningGay/pseuds/TheHighlyFunctioningGay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is captivated by Castiel Novak's violin playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curve of His...Violin

**Author's Note:**

> Although Dean is a hunter in this fic, he has never met Castiel. I got the inspiration for this when my friend sent me an audio clip of her playing the violin. This fic is dedicated to you, Jules ;)

Dean settled into the crimson seat next on Ben’s left, rolling his eyes at the annoying velvety feel of the chair. He looked over to see Ben chattering excitedly to Lisa, who sat on the boy’s right. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at that, deciding that he could suck it up and sit through a few hours of listening to a boring classical orchestra, at a pretentious, over-the-top theater if it made Ben happy. This whole trip had been Ben’s idea. And that was Dean’s fault.

When he’d decided to take a few days off from hunting to go on a trip with Lisa and Ben, he told Ben they could do whatever he wanted. “Really? Anything?” Ben had asked, his eyes lighting up immediately. “Yeah, man,” Dean replied. He owed Lisa and Ben so much more than that. But this was a start.

He thought Ben would choose something like going to a baseball game or watching a movie. Instead the boy ran excitedly to his bedroom, pulled out a flyer for some orchestra in some fancy theater in New York, then ran back to the kitchen table and handed it to Dean, gazing up at him with pleading eyes. Dean stared at the paper in shock, then at Ben’s desperate little face, then back at the paper.

Hearing the prolonged silence, Lisa looked up from her paperwork at the other end of the table. She shook her head when her eyes fell on the flyer. “Ben, I told you a million times,” she said in a tired tone. “We can’t go all the way to New York to see this show. Go on YouTube, it’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s fine, Lisa,” Dean said, finally snapping out of his daze. He knew her well enough to know that she would take Ben if she could afford it. But she couldn’t. A yoga instructor’s salary doesn’t exactly allow for spontaneous trips to fancy New York theaters. Dean, on the other hand, could easily afford this trip, thanks to his credit card…hobby.

So they’d packed for the trip, Ben jumping up and down and Lisa thanking Dean more times than was necessary, and here they were.

Dean was tapping his feet on the perfectly polished marble floor, occasionally catching a word in Ben and Lisa’s conversation. He smiled when Ben mentioned “art lessons” and Lisa nodded.

Over these past few days Dean had realized that he was right for staying away from them for so long, for shielding Ben from the life Dean’s father had forced Dean to live. Because maybe, if Dean had been allowed to be a kid, to discover what he liked to do instead of being trained like a soldier…maybe Dean would have liked classical music and painting, too. And maybe he wouldn’t have spent his entire life denying that he was bisexual.

His heart began to race at that last thought, as it always did when connected his military-like upbringing with the deep-seated internal homophobia he’d had to fight after his father’s death. He was pretty much over the homophobia at this point, but his resentment toward his father was still strong.

Dean’s train of thought was interrupted by a loud, “Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen,” but he didn’t even bother to look up. He leaned his head back against the chair, pain and self-pity suddenly overtaking him.

The orchestra music played in the back of Dean’s mind as he sat in a strange daze. His mind was empty but his heart was overflowing with crippling sadness. The theater was dark and the music was slow, and Dean’s eyes drooped as he let his head fall back, his left cheek resting on the soft cushiony back of his chair. The music swelled and died down repeatedly, its many instruments only a dull hum in Dean’s mind. He could feel himself slowly slipping into a warm sleep, his eyes falling completely shut.

Suddenly, the low hum of music came to a stop. It was replaced by a single note, trembling and reverberating out into the air, held until its strength faded out into silence. All at once, Dean’s mental solitude was filled with a stream beautiful high notes, pouring over his ears in a lyrical melody that sounded as if it were coming straight from heaven.

Dean opened his eyes in shock and looked up onto the stage. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the man standing there. Dean’s eyes found jet-black hair that, despite being gelled back with a lot of care, still looked unruly. The man had facial hair a bit longer than stubble, making him look serious and, perhaps, older than he was.

His eyes were half-lidded in intense concentration as he played, and it looked almost as if he were in another world, pulling each note out of a hidden corner of his soul. Dean let his eyes fall over the man’s black suit, over his broad chest and shoulders, down to his small waist, and lower, over the curve of his- Dean looked back up to the violin in the man’s hand.

He felt almost guilty for that thought. The man was playing beautifully, mesmerizing everyone in the audience. And Dean was not going to take that for granted. He could stare at hot guys any time- although this violinist was the hottest guy he’d ever seen- but listening to this music, it almost made him picture…

He let his eyes droop again as he imagined a vast field, covered in a soft, white coat of snow. Snowflakes fell all around him against a backdrop of bare trees. Dean smiled a little as he lost himself, remembering a winter when he and Sam had a snowball fight one afternoon. The sun shined down on the little boys’ faces, as they laughed and ran through the fresh snow, leaving their footprints as a claim to their territory. They bent down to grab handfuls of snow, pressing it together in their hands before hurling it at each other.

A single, long note echoed through the air again, and Dean opened his eyes when silence filled the auditorium. The man stood with his bow down at his side, looking out over the audience as the curtains came down.


	2. Professor Castiel Novak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is a little shit. But maybe that's the just the push that Dean needs.

-Intermission-

“Dean? Dean!”

“Huh?” Dean tore his eyes away from the closed curtains and turned his head to face Ben, who was smiling from ear to ear.

“I saw you!” the boy yelled excitedly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

The couple sitting next to Dean looked at Ben and frowned.

“Be quiet!” Dean pleaded, suddenly embarrassed.

“Dean has a cru-ush, Dean has a cru-ush,” Ben whispered in a sing-song voice.

Dean blushed and rolled his eyes, and suddenly Ben’s face turned serious. He grabbed a showbill from his mom’s seat, where she’d left it to go to the bathroom. Flipping through it quickly, he found the desired page and shoved it into Dean’s lap.

The top of the page read, “Professor Castiel Novak,” followed by a picture. Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he took it all in- the deep blue of the man’s eyes, the sharp, hard lines of his jaw- which Dean could see because the man was clean-shaven here- and, most importantly, the way the right corner of his smile curved up seductively.

Dean forced himself to move his eyes from the photo before he got a boner in front of a room full of elderly music lovers. And Ben.

He shifted his attention to Castiel’s biography, eyes landing on words like “child prodigy” and “world-renowned.” He paused, all of a sudden intimidated. This guy was immensely, unquestionably out of his league.

Dean turned away from the playbill, and immediately heard Ben clear his throat in the seat next to him, pointing to something in the article. Dean rolled his eyes at the boy and read- “Professor Novak teaches music part-time at NYU.”

He looked up at Ben, who was smiling slyly at Dean. “Oh, hell no,” he whispered, afraid he’d insult these pretentious people with his language. “I am not stalking this guy! He isn’t even all that cute!”

“Who isn’t all that cute?”

Dean and Ben both looked up at the same time to see Lisa, settling back into her chair.

“No one-” Dean began to say before Ben cut him off.

“Dean has a crush on the violin guy!”

Lisa laughed, shooting an amused look at Dean. “Well, honey, that’s Dean’s business, not ours,” she replied.

“Whatever,” Ben pouted, climbing out of his seat. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll take you,” Dean said, following a rushing Ben out into the aisle. “Which way is it?” he asked, looking around. When he looked back down, Ben was gone.

“Ben!” he yelled, frantically scanning the room. He turned his head just in time to see Ben go up on stage and disappear behind the curtains. Cursing under his breath, he took off after the boy.

Stepping behind the curtains, he froze when he spotted Ben. Ben was talking to Castiel, who was looking down at him, amused.

“Why do you need my number?” Castiel asked.

“It’s not for me. It’s for-”

“Okay, Ben, get over here,” Dean interjected, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder before he could say another word.

He turned to the other man, feeling himself begin to blush. “I’m very sorry for my son’s behavior.”

“That’s alright,” Castiel said, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. The violinist’s voice was deep and gravelly, and Dean forgot where he was for a moment. Castiel smirked. “I don’t mind so much now that I know who’s asking for my number.”

“Oh, no- I’m not…he just…”

“DEAN WAS BORED UNTIL HE HEARD YOU PLAY AND THEN HE STARED AT YOU AND STARED AT YOUR PICTURE AND READ YOUR BIOGRAPHY AND HE LIKES YOU!” Ben hollered at the top of his lungs before quickly running out into the auditorium.


	3. Shy Smiles and Awkward Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has run off, leaving Dean and Castiel backstage alone.

An awkward silence hung in the air as the two men stared at each other, frozen like deer in headlights. Dean’s face was flushed a bright crimson. He pleaded with his brain to work, so that he could do something- apologize again, walk away, try to start a conversation. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, utterly at a loss for words.

Finally managing to gain control of his body, and took a step backwards, preparing to turn and walk away.

It was then that Castiel realized Dean was uncomfortable. The violinist had lost himself studying the other man, gazing into his green eyes, taking in the soft, delicate features of his face, admiring his wide chest and shoulders.

“So is it true?” Castiel blurted, grasping for something to say to keep Dean from leaving. “Does classical music bore you?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and Castiel cringed. He’d meant to say that playfully, but it had come out as an accusation.

“I mean… all classical music but mine,” he added, making sure Dean saw his smirk.

Dean smiled, and Castiel could feel the mood instantly lighten. “Yeah, basically.”

Castiel smiled back at him, as the impending silence settled around them once again.

“How- how long have you been playing?” Dean asked, desperate to fill the silence. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself. The man just played a violin solo at a fancy theater in New York. And he was a music professor at NYU. He’d obviously been playing since he was a kid.

“Oh, just a couple of years. It’s really more of a hobby than anything,” Castiel replied in a serious tone.

Dean stared, waiting for Castiel to laugh or at least crack a smile.

Castiel’s gaze swept over his face, searching for the same, before he exhaled with a huff and smiled. “Sorry, I was never good at this whole, making people laugh thing.”

Dean smiled back. “You can try again over dinner… if you want.”

Castiel laughed. “Smooth, Dean. Very smooth.”

“So, is that a yes?” Dean asked, a little too much hope in his voice.

“I’d love to, Dean, really, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be too much fun tonight. I’m exhausted and hungry, and to make things worse I’m so tired I’ll probably just go home and fall asleep without eating.”

There was an honesty to Castiel’s voice that made Dean believe the violinist wasn’t rejecting him. Dean looked more carefully at the other man’s face now, his gaze sweeping over the bags under Castiel’s eyes. He probably hadn’t noticed them before because he was distracted by Castiel’s stunning blue eyes. Yeah, the man was definitely telling the truth about being tired.

“But I will give you my number,” he continued, reaching a hand out to Dean, presumably for his phone, “and we can set something up, maybe next week?”

Dean sighed. “I’m only here for three days,” he said, nevertheless handing his phone to Castiel.

“Oh,” Castiel replied, staring at the phone, unsure about whether he should put his number in.

Suddenly Dean reached out, placing a hand over Castiel’s outstretched one. “Listen, Cas, you really should at least eat something.” Dean’s voice was trembling with uncertainty, but he had to try one last time. All of a sudden the thought of leaving in a few days seemed intolerable. “Let me… let me just make you dinner. Make sure you have something to eat. No stupid date banter… no talking at all if you want.”

Dean cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. Of course Cas would say no. He probably found him creepy, thought he was some stalker who sent his son backstage as a wingman.

Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone flipping closed. He looked down to see Cas placing it back into his palm.

“That sounds nice,” Cas said, his hand lingering over Dean’s. They locked eyes for a second, Dean’s gaze a little disbelieving. “Let me get my coat,” Cas said, before walking to the closet a few feet away.

Dean pocketed his phone, and looked up to see Cas pushing his arms through the sleeves of a slightly dirty, tan trench coat. He stifled a laugh.

Cas looked up at the sound. “What?” he asked, as if unaware of the weird large cloth shrouding his body.

“I don’t know, I was just expecting something more… classic looking. To go along with your suit,” Dean replied, hoping he hadn’t blown his chances by offending Cas.

“My suit is my work clothes. I see it as a uniform. My jacket is… one of my favorite things I own.”

Cas’s voice trailed off, his thoughts suddenly seeming to go somewhere far off.

Dean took a few steps towards Cas. “I like it,” he said softly, letting his eyes roam over the other man.

Cas smiled. Dean swayed into his space a bit, the urge to kiss him suddenly bubbling up. His eyes moved to Cas’s lips, just as Cas yawned.

Cas covered his mouth, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean snapped out of his daze, remembering the task at hand. Take the violinist home. Feed him. Make sure he gets to sleep. “Come on, Cas,” he said, slipping a hand into his.

“Cas,” the violinist repeated. “No one has ever called me that before. I like it,” he decided with another yawn.


End file.
